The Spider's Web
by insanemoriarty
Summary: A sequel to The Spider's Catch. Former MI6 Emma Marin wants to start her life over after her time with Jim Moriarty, believing him to be dead post-Reichenbach. Little does she know that the spider isn't done with his games just yet, and he's looking for a new addition for his mighty web.
1. Chapter 1

"_And yesterday, the almost unbelievable truth was revealed: James Moriarty was an actor, Richard Brook, hired by Sherlock Holmes to convince the police and public alike that he was a genius. Many of the crimes he was said to have committed simply didn't happen, and the blog which made Sherlock famous was revealed to be nothing more than a work of fiction. Whilst it's still unclear-_"

Emma stopped the video that was trending on the homepage of the BBC News website and sat back in the overstuffed leather armchair by her desk. It was enormous and made of an expensive mahogany, but was hardly ever used. She wasn't an office type of person, as one could tell by he barbells and punching bags behind the large office desk. Only a fraction of actual work got done at the desk. Mostly it was used for sitting in front of her laptop, occasionally checking in on the news stations of her home country. When that wasn't enough, she put her hacking skills to the test to check the underground networks to see what was _really_ being talked about, but covered up to an extent.

Today was one of those days when she ventured into the Deep Web only to find it buzzing with more activity than she'd ever seen. Over and over again, the same three words repeated: _Moriarty is dead_. This led her to the BBC News page, allowing her to piece together the puzzle when she saw what her home country was buzzing about.

She let out a shaky sigh and buried her face in her hands. She had been fine during his incarceration, and then again during his suspicious acquittal, but this is where she saw her own handiwork actually cause damage.

It had been four months since she had arrived in Rio de Janeiro to start a new life under the pseudonym Alana Monteiro. Four months since she had last seen Jim's face lying across her naval as she drifted off to sleep, wondering how he was planning on killing her. Never would she have thought she'd outlive him. She was sure he had protection against god himself.

What bothered her most though was not that he was dead, but that he took someone out with him, and she had had a significant hand in it. Despite turning down his offer of working for him, that's exactly what she ended up doing. It was as if she herself sent this Sherlock Holmes to his death. If Mycroft did ever find her, she was sure their reunion would not be a joyful one.

She pushed her intrusive thoughts to the back of her mind. It was, after all, another workday. She had no time to time to stress over what she could and could not have prevented. Jim Moriarty was a chapter in her life that was over months ago. Unfortunately there still remained a few reminders of the previous chapter such as the magnificent flat she now resided in, provided for her by him, and a black Swiss Army knife she now kept on her person to brave some of the more treacherous streets of Rio.

She had no idea why she kept that knife. She didn't even remember she still had it until she was on the plane ride here. It was more a weapon that was conveniently now hers rather than a reminder of him. Then again, sometimes she wasn't so sure. She could have easily thrown it out and gotten something better. It's not like she didn't go weapons shopping once in a while. But something prevented her from discarding it. Sentiment, perhaps? She found she had nothing to be sentimental about in years, and this tiny, now-dull knife satiated any hunger she had ever had for it.

She finally closed her computer screen and headed for the bedroom to prepare for her day. It was a wide-open space with barely more than the king-sized bed and vanity. In fact, the décor was so eerily like the room she stayed in at Jim's compound, but that had to do more with the fact that she preferred the simple contemporary look. She didn't have many items in her possession to clutter up her place with.

After a quick change of spandex capris and tank top, she put her long hair in a braid and headed out with the duffel bag by the door.

The sun was just coming up and there was barely anyone out in the streets. This was not a morning city. The nighttime however was when all of Rio came alive with sights and sounds. Women clad in only bikinis headed back from the beach to get ready for the nightlife, kids played football in the streets, and men and women alike skirted along on their mopeds from work. At this time however, they were all recovering from their long nights.

After about a mile of walking, she reached a smaller building that looked like a warehouse of sorts. A muscular tanned man without a shirt on stood outside it next the door.

"You're late," he said with an accent.

She rolled her eyes and looked at her watch. It was a quarter until seven and she normally would have been there fifteen minutes earlier. "I was busy."

"Fala sério! (_No kidding!)_" Gabriel, one of her employees, sarcastically exclaimed as she took out her key ring and began unlocking the front door. "Was there a House marathon on this morning?"

She chuckled before pushing the door open to let him through first. "Espertinho (_wiseass_)," she muttered with a smile and wink. She hit a switch and the interior of the warehouse illuminated as the light shone off of the mirrors that lined almost every wall. Throughout the room were several pieces of new fitness equipment: weight racks, row machines, medicine balls, resistance bands, jump ropes, Stairmasters, etc.

The fitness center had been her creation, obsession, and distraction for months now. She knew she would eventually have to find a job here, and because she had a clean slate, she had almost any profession to pick from. Her only limitation was yoga profession. Mycroft caught her once and she was making sure to never be caught again.

So this is what she chose. Instead of constantly running away from what she was good at, she decided to embrace it and make something good out of it. In a way, she did help people. She helped them to achieve their goals and offered motivation just when they felt like giving up. And best of all, she was helping people to defend themselves.

As her employee began to turn on certain lights and arrange equipment in the fitness, she walked through to a set of doors just at the far end: the room she was most proud of. After propping open the doors and illuminating the room before her, she couldn't help but smile.

It was much larger than the room she entered from. While it indeed looked darker, it was because there were no mirrors lining the wall, only the grey metal of the interior of the building. Black rubber mats tiled the floor and all around the perimeter were heavy bags and speed bags spread out evenly. In the center of the room stood a clean but slightly worn boxing ring.

Her new profession as a personal trainer and fitness business owner was perhaps not the best idea to keep a low profile, but Jim had promised her additional security measures was taken so she was ecstatic at doing at something she was good at. Usually not one for promoting violence after the fallout from her last job, she found that most of her customers were either competitors or civilians wanting basic self-defense skills. In fact, most of them were the latter, and she was more than happy to provide the service. For the first time in many years, she felt safe and happy.

The rest of her day played out like any others: she trained a little, sorted out some paperwork, consulted her customers, cleaned equipment, and ended the day with an arduous women's self-defense course. The women were now leaving along with her employees, leaving her to clean up the area in complete quiet solitude.

She was just pushing a heavyweight dummy out of the way when she heard light footsteps in the main area of the gym. Confused, she dropped what she was doing and walked through the double doors to find a tall pale man in a dark suit standing there with a hardened expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, we've just closed. If you want to come back-"

"Emma Marin," the man began with a posh English accent, "I'm here to escort you quietly to the British Embassy, where you will remain in custody until we can arrange transport back to England."

She felt her entire body turn to ice in that instant. Goosebumps crept upon her, her mouth lay agape for some time, and he breathing practically slowed to a stop. She was not, in fact, as safe as she thought.

"I-I think you have the wrong person," she stammered out. He knew it was a lie and she knew his knowledge of that, but she was giving him a second chance to leave here without conflict.

His glare remained unchanged. "My orders were to bring you back alive _or dead_ this time. I'd prefer the former," he said, taking a step forward.

She responded with a step backward. "Listen: either you can get out of here and tell Mycroft that it was a false lead, or one of us dies. Neither of us wants the latter." She had a frightened look on her face, not because she was legitimately scared of him, but because she was scared of the conflict that was to come.

A small smile appeared on his face and his eyes moved from her face down her body, clearly noticing how, despite her fit shape, she was no match for his large, muscular form. "I don't mind the latter," he replied, reaching his hand into his front coat pocket.

Her instincts jumpstarted as she dove out of the way toward the boxing room door before he could even fire a shot from the gun he now held. She heard the bullet ricochet off a medal bench press machine and she could only pray that it wouldn't hit her.

She reached the light switches and hurriedly ran her arm down all of them, avoiding a bullet just to her right. With the room now being pitch black, she quietly skirted along the edge of it making little to no noise.

She heard the gunman click his tongue. "How clever…" the gunman uttered as his eyes tried to adjust.

She had spent almost twelve hours a day here for the past three months and she knew where everything was placed. She could have navigated this room blindfolded if she needed to. Luckily, this was as close as she was going to get to that.

She grabbed a weight she found by her foot and softly lobbed it across the room, making sure it landed with a _thud_. A millisecond later, a gunshot went off followed by the cracking of one of the mirrored walls. It was enough to draw his attention away for just the right amount of time as she grabbed bench press bar and swung it toward the spot where she had last heard the gun.

It met a hard object and she heard the gun go clattering to the floor as the man roared in agony. She threw the bar aside and dropped to her hands and knees to feel around for the weapon as the man tried to recover. She had just felt for the tip of it when his arms flew around her neck.

One of his burly forearms was now digging into her neck, blocking her airways. Her arms instinctively flew to his, trying to pry them off, but it was no use. He was significantly stronger than her.

She closed her eyes and pictured the room. In front of her must have been the leg press and behind them was the squat machine. And that's when she formed her plan. Instead of trying to slip under his grip, she put her hands out and pushed against the leg press as hard as she could, sending them both flip backward and into a pin that normally stuck out from the machine behind them.

The man cried out and let go of his chokehold of her as the pin pierced through his back. She scrambled forward once more and grabbed the gun before turning around to face her attacker. There he sat against the side of the squat machine, the weight pin sticking out of his stomach as blood began to pool on the dusty floor.

He looked up at her helplessly in his final moments. She returned the look with one of dire regret. "I'm sorry," she said in her shaky voice as she raised the gun to his forehead.

A ringing phone broke the silence in the dark hotel room suite. It was finally answered after the fourth ring – not enough to be dismissed, but not soon enough to be important.

"What."

"Sir, there's been a problem," the panicked voice on the other line began. He sounded as if it were his own life on the line. He wasn't wrong. "The man we sent…he hasn't checked in. I'm afraid we've lost him."

There was a pause in the conversation, one that made the caller quite nervous. What he couldn't hear was the smile that formed upon the receiver's lips. "Good."

"Sir?" the man asked, clearly confused. "But…he failed. One of our men is dead!" He sounded nearly hysterical at this point.

A long paused followed by, "Have you ever been to an aquarium?"

"W-what?"

"That shark tank, specifically. Lovely creatures, sharks…"

There was another pause on the line. The caller had no idea what to say and he was sure his boss wasn't done yet.

"The problem is that they can be a bit a shy. It's almost like they sometimes forget they're sharks," he continued, saying the last line with a touch of irritation. "That's easily fixed, of course. Just drop some fish into the tank, am I right?"

"Sir…what exactly is the plan?"

"To get the shark to come out and play," he finished, hanging up the phone and throwing it aside. He walked over to the window and threw open the curtains. It practically lit up the entirety of his room. That was something he'd have to get used to. Even so, he couldn't help but smirk at the lively city of Rio before him. Well…lively for now, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Explicit Sexual Content warning.

It had been a week since her brawl with the unwelcome stranger, and she felt just as shaken up as if it were the day after.

Luckily, you couldn't have much worse of a night than that. When she had finally gathered her thoughts that night, only one thing kept flashing through her mind: how incredibly screwed she was. She had abandoned her own morals, perhaps even aided in the forced suicide of an individual, all so she could have this, and now she felt her newfound life and stability tumbling around her like a palace built from cards.

Disposing of a body wasn't something she was taught to do in her years of training. She could also have called the police and let them handle it, but she knew that MI6 must have been tracking suspicious activity around the world, and she couldn't think of a single thing more suspicious than one of their agents disappearing in an athletic facility in Rio. Especially if they suspected her of being there. So she had to make sure she had nothing to do with this.

She took a deep breath and decided to do something she hadn't had the opportunity to do in years: trust someone. She called her employee Gabriel back into the office and explained that this man broke in and was trying to rob them, if not something worse, and it eventually became kill or be killed (at least she wasn't lying about the former part). She also made up some bullshit about having an ex-boyfriend out there stalking her and she needed to keep her name out of the papers to ensure something like this didn't happen again.

Eventually, after a few minutes of her counterfeit hysteria, the man took pity on her and sent on her way home so he could call the police and handle the fallout on his own.

The gym had remained closed for the past week as the crime scene was cleared up. The equipment had to be either replaced or cleaned thoroughly and the shattered mirrors on the walls had to be swapped out as well, so she didn't foresee it opening for another month yet. The only thing on her agenda nowadays was brooding in her room, mulling over yet another life she was forced to take.

Her employees, who were the closest things friends she had, called repeatedly to tell her it wasn't her fault, and that it could have ended worse had she not killed him, which of course only made her feel worse as they didn't know the truth of it.

She had just started an episode of _The Wire_ curled up in her bed when her mobile phone began to ring. She reluctantly answered it after seeing it was Gabriel. She was ready to ignore her employees' calls now, but she couldn't with Gabe – she owed him.

"Hello?" she quietly asked.

"Hey…how have you been?" the voice on the other end began, sounding just as reluctant.

She let out a lazy groan in response.

"Gotcha…listen, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come dancing with us tonight?"

"No," she responded flatly, hoping her tone signified the end of the conversation.

"I wouldn't ask otherwise, but it's Sophia's birthday, and you did promise her last month you would come out for it. She tried calling you but…" His voice trailed off and she knew he was going to say something along the lines of, '_you murdered someone and now you won't talk to anyone_.'

She mulled it over in her mind. She _did_ promise the girl, but so much had happened since then.

Hearing the heavy silence on the other end, Gabe started again. "I'm sorry this happened to you. Really. But what are you going to at home? Sit there and stress yourself out for no reason? Just come take your mind off it, at least for one night."

He was correct. Laying here and thinking about the atrocities she had committed wasn't going to solve her problems. There was nothing to be done now except move on with her life, and somehow try to leave all this behind.

"Fine," she sighed.

"Really? Wow, I didn't think that would work," he let out between a nervous laugh.

After a few more minutes on the phone, she had her details for this evening and began to mentally prepare herself.

Throwing herself out into the social world felt like something she was not prepared for. Despite always wanting the option to do so, she now found herself hesitant, rather preferring her life of quiet solidarity. It was something she had grown accustomed to. Anything else made her feel as out of place as if she were back at a house party with cheap beer and low standards, and that was not a life she ever felt was right for her to begin with.

But this was a challenge she was forcing herself to accept, and at least she had company. Her colleagues – or perhaps they were friends now? – were an improvement from horny teens at the very least.

Much to her dismay, the location they were going to was a nightclub rather than a relaxed lounge setting as she had suggested. She felt like she was jumping right into the shark tank with that. And ultimately, either location wouldn't have mattered in terms of her wardrobe; she didn't own anything you couldn't wear in a gym setting anyway. At least she had a bit of time before having to meet her friends.

She hurriedly went to the closest women's clothing store she could find to shop – if you could call it that. In actuality, she grabbed the nearest sales attendant and asked her what to buy that covered more than 30% of her body. The woman pointed her to their most popular items, which included a pair of high-waisted trousers and chiffon tank top. Neither were anything too crazy. She certainly didn't want to wear something as uncomfortable as a dress or miniskirt. She didn't even want to bother with heels so she bought a pair of fancy sandals to go with her ensemble. Her shopping trip was quite pricey, but at that point she didn't care. She didn't have a choice and it's not like she splurged on clothes everyday.

After a brief shower and slight touches of makeup, she got dressed and headed into battle. She met her friends outside of the nightclub, the blaring music loud enough to hear from outside, making her all the more nervous to jump into that kind of setting.

But the prodding of her friends drove her forward, into the den of sweaty bodies perpetuated by the loud erratic music.

The inside of the club was merely a commercial building with bland characteristics and blaring music; it almost looked like it was created by the same architects as her athletic warehouse. But despite her skepticism for the place, her party proceeded to file in as if it were the hippest place on the block, and refusing would only make her look as weak as she felt at that moment.

"This isn't _so_ bad, right?" Gabriel yelled into my ear as we found a spot by the bar to order our drinks for a bartender with a blue fauxhawk and several piercings.

She looked around as if she were a violinist who got lost at a metal concert and finally gave up on trying to find her coterie. "Nope, not at all," she responded as a shot glass filled with clear liquid was passed to her.

She stared at the glass for a full minute while the rest of her party stood frozen in a position set to toast a special occasion. The thought of alcohol sent her into a frenzy of evaluation, until she forced her thoughts to an unbeknownst place merely for the sake of peer pressure.

"To Sophia!" they all synchronized, throwing back their drinks in once fluid motion as if it were as easy as if it were water as opposed to tequila.

She forcefully downed her own drink and was pulled onto the dance floor by her friends immediately, feeling the effects of the liquid as if it were her first time (which it may as well have been).

The entirety of her night of her was best described as chaotic as she had just followed her group with whatever they were doing: if they drank she drank, if they smoked she smoked, if they danced, she danced (albeit in a very uncoordinated fashion). The issue was that she didn't take into account what her own tolerance was compared to her friends'.

Soon enough, she found herself lost in the music she was making fun of hours ago. Her body moved along with the beat and the drunken movements found a rhythm to cling to. Her mind got lost in the substance she was not used to, making her feel so secure it was almost uncomfortable. She hadn't felt this way in ages. It had been too long since her mind allowed her to have more than a moment of peace. And now she found herself in utter euphoria.

She observed the scene all around her: everyone lost in the same state as she was, some even farther off. A woman in a bikini was dancing offbeat in a corner by herself. A man rubbed his body against another man in ecstasy. The strobe light reflected off of the tiepin of a finely dressed man sitting in the corner.

_Wait, a man in a suit in a dingy Rio nightclub?_ She did a double take, but couldn't spot the man again. Perhaps it was just excessive drunkenness. That theory was especially supported when a good-looking man came up to her and started dancing very closely against her – and she allowed it.

She and her friends separated that night, and she surprisingly brought the man who she danced with back with her on a whim. She allowed him to press his lips against hers throughout the night, allowed him to let his hands explore her body. And when their night at the club was through, she practically dragged him back to her place, relying on the lascivious instinct that she attempted to suppress for so long. And despite the sub-par sex that followed, she found satisfaction in the fact she finally had the chance to experience freedom in the fullest.

* * *

A soft movement along her calves was what first woke her from her drunken slumber. She savored the fleeting sensation before it slowly started moving upward to her calves. She soon recognized them as soft kisses and welcomed the tenderness. It mostly felt odd to her because she wasn't expecting the passion after last night's lack thereof. Not that she was complaining. In fact, she welcomed the feeling as his lips began moving to her knees and beyond.

She felt his breaths just outside her pubic mound so she ran her hand down to get tangled in his hair. She wished she could have gazed upon his face throughout his motions but he was well hidden beneath her covers, and the actions shrouded in a certain sense of mystery further turned her on.

His bottom lip brushed against her part, making her take a sharp intake of breath. As his tongue slide along it though she couldn't help but release soft moan. This was by far the best awakening she had ever had.

She felt his hands move along the slit before finally shifting them apart so his own mouth to delve deeper. His tongue started off with slow movements from the base to the tip of clit before finally sucking the entirety of her sensitive regions within his mouth.

Her grip on his hair tightened as her pleasure grew, her moans becoming louder with each passing moment. Where was this enthusiasm last night? At this point, she didn't even care. She was savoring every second of it, preparing herself to release for this stranger for the first time.

As she felt the tip of his tongue roam across her clit with such formulaic grace once more, she finally let herself go, every inhibition fleeing with any other thought process her now-sober mind was possibly reasoning through.

"Oh god," she gasped out, regaining her breaths as she closed her eyes and reveled in this euphoric feeling. She felt him come up out of the covers and rest beside her, but she had no energy to face him just yet. "What did you say your name was again?" she asked in a joking manner, although she actually had no idea and didn't care to know. She just had no idea where to go from here.

She felt the weight of the bed shift as the figure moved closer to her, finally resting his body against hers. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me already," the drawling voice replied into her ear.

Upon hearing the voice, her eyes shot open and her heartbeat almost doubled. That voice was recognizable almost anywhere. She felt the rapid heartbeat churning her stomach as she confirmed what she knew to be true and finally turned her head to face him.

Her face was met with his face less than a couple of inches from hers, so arrogant she could have slapped him were it not for her utter disbelief. After a few moment of silence in which he realized she had not yet recovered from the shock, he asked in his most mocking voice, "_Did you miss me_?"


	3. Chapter 3

With rapid speed, she grabbed the sheets around her body pulled them up with her to dart across the room, practically collapsing against the nearest wall. She stared at him on the bed with wide eyes, trying to regain her breath.

He looked exactly as he had when she last saw him: skin cold and colorless but for the dark circles under the eyes, hair unusually disheveled, smirk glued on his face as if it were permanent. He casually leaned back on the pile of pillows satiated, donning nothing but a pair of a black boxer briefs. She had to look away the second she felt heat rise up to her cheeks.

"Jim?" she hoarsely whispered, unsure if a sound even came out for him to hear. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

His grin widened to the point of laugh lines appearing around his eyes; she could practically feel the weight of his amusement fill the room. "Shouldn't you?"

He was, of course, referring to the fact that she was now on the run as much as he was ever since escaping the employment of the British government. If you had once worked from them, especially in the position she had occupied, you were now either dead or promoted; there was no other option. And from the circumstance of her mysterious disappearance, she was more than sure she was technically "dead" by official standards.

She wasn't sure if the lightheaded and queasy feeling was from the unpleasant revelation or her hangover. She opened her mouth to say something but didn't know where to begin. _How? Why?_ But all she could manage to utter was, "_Get. Out._" She caught a fleeting glance of his face fall just slightly before turning on her heel and storming into the bathroom.

With the door locked behind her, she let the sheet plummet to the floor before grabbing onto the sink ledge for support.

She was not mentally or physically ready for the confrontation. In fact, it felt like the absolute worst time for it. Her ashen complexion and weary eyes hid the storm of emotions that raged on within her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or punch through the mirror. Before she could, however, decide what her ultimate decision would be, a red glimmer caught her eye on the bathtub behind her. Her heart leapt to her throat as she slowly turned around and approached the area with caution.

Her mind had been so distracted by the appearance of Jim that the disappearance of the man she actually went home with eluded her - until now, that is. The fact that she now found him, blood pooled beneath him due to a gash in his throat, answered the question that she had forgotten to ask. The horrific sight before her would surely have made her retch had she not been desensitized to dead men a week prior. What flowed through her now however was rage.

Not wanting to feel more vulnerable than she already felt, she grabbed the closest towel and wrapped it around herself before exiting the room. She found Jim seated on top of her recently made bed now donning his trouser bottoms and a white shirt, reading through the mail that was on the nightstand just minutes ago.

"Not very tidy, are you?" he mumbled distractedly, not bothering to look up at her.

She grabbed the papers out of his hands in fury. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

All he did was raise his eyebrows but she could tell a smirk was fighting to break through the concerned façade. "What do you mean?"

"The dead man in my bathtub," she answered through gritted teeth. She wanted to be happy to see him - truly she did - but she didn't want to imagine a world where a situation like this arose regularly.

"Oh, that," he replied in a bored voice. "Don't worry; I'll have that cleaned up."

She waited for him to continue, but when he just sat there looking back at her as if that explained it all, she continued. "You killed an innocent man all because he had the audacity to sleep with me?"

"No, no, kitten," he began softly. He stood up and began to soothingly stroke her upper arms like a comforting partner. "First of all, _I_ didn't kill him. Secondly, I would hardly call a low-scale drug dealer innocent. No one will miss him," he finished as if that excused everything. "Besides, I'm disappointed you'd bother with amateur criminals." He added a wink to his prideful confession, making any shred of joy she felt at seeing him alive again vanish into the humidity around them.

She pulled away from his touch as if his rationale were contagious. She had so much to say hanging on the tip of her tongue but she knew how Jim's mind worked. He was cold, logical, and above all else, cunning. He knew just how to manipulate her into getting a response. There was practically no way to win his game. Except for, perhaps, not playing at all.

She turned on her heel and left the room toward the guest bathroom without another glance at Jim's face.

Not having the last word was not something she was used to, but this was a delicate situation. The cards were now in her hands unlike the last time they were together when she was at his mercy. She did not intend to deal loosely anymore.

After a brief shower she finally felt her senses come back to her. The sluggishness was chased away by the cold water and her stomach would only settled by some greasy food. That or the sight of a goodbye note on her counter. Much to her dismay however she found Jim sitting at the kitchen island reading a newspaper with a kettle and two cups in front of him.

"When I told you to get out earlier, I didn't just mean out of the bedroom."

He looked up at her and scanned the entirety of her body. She wasn't quite sure what he was trying to read but she didn't make it too difficult. She was clad in an airy tank top and shorts, sneakers laced up in a messy knot. If he was trying to read her agenda, it didn't take a detective to figure out she was going for a run, most likely to escape the apartment and continue eluding his presence until he decided to move on.

"I thought we could have a proper chat over some tea perhaps," he finally began in a domineering tone. He had figured out that his honey-laced mask was not fooling her one bit. But shuffling his own cards was not going to get him very far either.

She briskly walked over to him, grabbed the kettle and proceeded to the sink where she tipped the steaming liquid over slowly, taking in his bemused expression. "That was a lovely chat. Thanks for dropping by," she said in tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let yourself out, will you?" With that, she retreated from the poker table and left the flat.

One major thing she gathered from her years as an intelligence agent and from her own personal experience was that Jim Moriarty was not a patient man. He was not one to chase after desires. If he didn't obtain them right away, they didn't matter. The problem was that he wasn't used to not obtaining his desires. So how did he dispose of those pesky little problems? How would he dispose of her? Quietly without farther contact, slinking back to the criminal networks of some other country? Or with a bang, leaving her in a bathtub with her throat slit open?

Thinking of how he met his goals did make her curious though. Why was he here? What did he want with her? The oral sex seemed more shock value than him just wanting to resume relations. And she couldn't imagine a mind like his needing companionship. So what did he want?

This brought her to the topic of how little she actually knew of the man. Before meeting him face to face, she only knew him by gathered intelligence: his conversations, his associations - his web, so to speak. And even after meeting him, she had never actually seen him interact with another human being. Was he different around others? Colder or (more doubtfully) warmer? Did he command his authoritarian voice or his soft, more subtly manipulative one?

These thoughts raced across her mind faster than she currently was along the desolate street so she stopped to catch her breath against a tree off to the side. Due to her distracted state, she found she ran three miles more than her usual. Overtraining was her favorite form of relieving stress and avoiding problems but probably wasn't the best for her emotionally or physically. But it was a faint reminder of the freedom she hadn't had in the years working for Mycroft. There were just so many reasons why running outside, fresh wind in your hair, choosing any path you felt like taking, was better than running on even the most advanced treadmill technology could dream of.

And then she thought of the reason why she was able to make this run: Jim. A twinge of guilt bore into her. Perhaps she was a bit too harsh. He wanted to talk and she refused to listen on the grounds that he would only manipulate her. But manipulate her into what is what she never bothered to figure out in her own arrogance. Perhaps she and Jim weren't so different in their methods after all.

She pushed all thoughts from her mind during her run back. She felt at her worst when she tried to bring strategy into it as if this were a computer she was playing poker with as opposed to a dynamic human being. And while the thought did cross her mind that Jim Moriarty was closer to a cold hard machine than an inconstant human, she realized she didn't know him enough to make that assumption, and that brought upon additional guilt.

She began her jog back and pushed excessive thoughts from her mind to focus on the path ahead of her. She would tackle her problem when she got to it. This was time for her and she didn't want thoughts of him to ruin it.

When she returned to the apartment, she stood outside with her key hovering over the keyhole, mentally preparing herself for the feat ahead. What disrupted her thoughts however was faint laughter coming from inside. She took a deep breath and prepared for whatever Jim had in store for this time.

She opened the door to find Jim seated on the living room couch, but he wasn't alone.

"Ah, there you are, sweetheart!" he exclaimed as he walked over to meet me, placing a light kiss on my cheek. "I'm sure you know our neighbor, Sophia." He gestured toward the beaming woman on the sofa that now stood up to welcome her.

"It's so nice to finally talk to you!" the woman began, holding out her hand to shake.

She had seen her in passing in the hallways but never went farther than a compulsory forced smile. She didn't want to make friends and had no idea what angle Jim was playing at.

"Um, pleasure," she responded quietly. She wasn't sure how to reply until she had assessed the situation carefully.

"James was just telling me the story of how you two met."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow and sat down across the couple. A sideways glance at Jim showed her how completely different he acted around these strangers.

He blushed and bashfully put an arm around her. "You remember, kitten, that business trip we had in Dublin? Oh, it was practically love at first sight!"

Her smiled faltered slightly. Was he playing her just for fun? Or did he have something to gain out of this?

"What can I say? I was just so _captured_ by his charm." She caught the fleeting glimpse of appreciation for the joke in his eyes.

"So sweet! Anyway, I must be off; my husband is bound to be home soon. Do come over for some coffee or tea some time!" She turned toward Jim. "And I mean it, James! Drag your fiancée if you have to!" She winked at him and headed out the door.

"Fiancée?" she started, pulling away from his touch the second the other woman's back was turned.

"'Wife' was just too committing, and girlfriend, well… I'm sure you saw the crucifix around her neck," he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She had not, in fact, noticed the cross. "Wouldn't want our neighbors hating us, now would we?"

"First of all, I don't care what my neighbors think of me. Second of all, what the hell was that about?"

"I saw her in passing and decided to be friendly."

"I'm not buying your bullshit today so try again," she demanded in an authoritarian tone that matched his in force.

The corners of mouth twitched upward admiringly. "Alright...her husband is the head of a large drug cartel. I was merely…networking."

As her mind wrapped around his explanation and she thought of everything else in context, she felt everything fall into place.

"You're here to recruit me." It wasn't a question. It was a realization she was having a difficult time believing.

He moved to the sofa opposite of her and resumed a business stance, leaning back with his legs crossed and hands intertwined. "Clever girl. You see, being dead really puts a halt on the influx of new clients. It also means having to cut loose several employees." He tilted his head and examined her contemplative gesture. "Everything you could ever want would be yours Money, security-"

"I have everything I could ever want: freedom. My answer remains the same as when you last asked me," she interrupted defiantly. "Now that I've given you a chance, get out."

"Afraid not, kitten. All this is mine, after all." He opened his arms to indicate his surroundings. _Including the freedom you now enjoy_, she could practically hear him saying behind his spoken words.

"If you won't leave then I will." She stood up and briskly walked back to her room, locking the door behind her. She moved through to the bathroom to find it as clean and body-less as it had been yesterday. However desperate Jim was, he wasn't completely resourceless. So why did he need her? These days, 16 year olds knew how to hack into networks. Any of her neighbor's cartel members was sure to be a sharpshooter. She had been a defiant wrench in Jim's plans since before he even knew her name. So why her? Why now?

This time she didn't care for the answers. She began her apartment search immediately. The quicker she was rid of him, the quicker the painful reminder of her past would subside.


End file.
